


with a name like Marco, what did you think was going to happen

by iksnilits



Series: bro sex 'verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Vacation, bro sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iksnilits/pseuds/iksnilits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this fic includes: italian rugby players! niall gettin fucked! that's it</p>
            </blockquote>





	with a name like Marco, what did you think was going to happen

**Author's Note:**

> influenced heavily by
> 
> [ymorton's niall/omc 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3671217), I liked [this post](http://ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com/post/129470137970/as-much-as-i-love-fics-where-niall-knows-what-he) and this really has nothing to do with that prompt but I wanted to write niall getting fucked sooo
> 
> hope u like the filth. comments make me so happy if u feel inclined !

+++

“Fuck youuu,” Louis is shouting at top volume from across the pool, but he’s laughing and splashing Liam. Harry’s crisping himself over on a pool lounger. 

Niall is trying not to get horrifically sunburnt while on this ‘family vacation’, as Louis has taken to calling it with a derisive snort. 

Their team had suggested one last public trip before their break – a vacation of sorts, something to show that the four of them were still on good terms, still tight as ever. So tour’s over, they’re wrapping things up, and Malibu is apparently the ideal place for a last hurrah of sorts. Even if it’s totally staged and Louis is two minutes away from breaking something at all times. 

Niall’s very cool with it, because it means he gets to play as much golf as he wants, sleep in til noon, and play his guitar on the beach, the last of which has resulted in a three-for-three record of tan, very sexually adventurous girls interested in seeing his hotel room.

The hot tub at their hotel is blissfully empty – Niall’s knee always feels much better after a good uninterrupted soak. He’s just turned the jets on and arranged himself so the small of his back gets gently pummeled by the water when another guy lowers himself into the hot tub, arms flexing as he slides in across from Niall.

“Sup,” Niall says, nodding. Louis said there were some rugby players staying at the hotel too, and he’s pretty sure this guy is one of them, if the massive shoulders are anything to go by.

“Hey,” the guy says, smiling long and lazy, stretching his arms out along the edge of the tub, and jesus, they span almost half of the circumference. Niall suddenly feels very self-conscious of his own thin, pale arms, and sinks a little further into the water, his cheeks turning pink from the heat.

“So what are you here for?” the guy asks, tipping his head back with easy confidence.

“Just – holiday,” Niall says lamely. He shrugs one shoulder up offhandedly.

“Nice,” the guy says. “I’m Marco. Here for a bachelor party. It’s been, uh – a little crazy.”

“So you’re down here, alone in the hot tub, you’re escaping?” Niall asks.

“Not alone,” Marco says, bringing his eyes back down to meet Niall’s, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “You’re here.”

“Well,” says Niall, swallowing reflexively and scratching at his shin under the water. “Too crazy, though?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Marco says, and Niall finds himself watching Marco mouth the word fuck, the bite of his bottom lip and the shine of it. “We’ve been going nonstop since Friday. Pretty sure I’m pissing rum at this point.”

Niall laughs. “Can’t keep up, huh,” he says.

“Hey,” says Marco, laughing, pushing himself suddenly off the side of the tub with one arm to shake a finger at Niall, and Niall’s pulse rabbits weirdly. “I can keep up. I choose not to, for the health of my liver.”

“Sure, bro,” Niall says, winking, and Marco grins, sliding back to his side of the hot tub.

Marco’s got this whole Dolce & Gabbana thing going – very Italian, very rich-looking, very short shorts. His dark hair flops in loose curls around his forehead, short on the sides, and his teeth are big and white. Throw in some dark brown puppy eyes, a fuckin’ ridiculous rugby-player body, and pink, pillowy lips, and Niall isn’t sure how he’s gotten laid at all when Marco’s within a hundred-mile radius.

The rest of his bachelor party seem to be just as painfully attractive, Niall learns, as the five of them drunkenly pile into the hot tub around Marco, jostling Niall’s leg off the seat ledge.

“Who’s this, Marco,” a blond guy demands with a smirk, slinging an arm around Marco’s shoulder and tilting his head at Niall.

“It’s – what was your name?” Marco says, grinning at Niall.

“Niall,” says Niall, reaching back for the edge of the tub to push himself out. “I should go – turnin’ into a prune. Good to meet you, man.” He throws Marco a smile, hoping it’s not too awkward that he leaves right away. Seven people is five too many for a hot tub, in Niall’s opinion.

“You too,” Marco says, eyes crinkling up in a smile. “See you around.”

“For sure,” Niall says, relieved, and wraps a towel low around his waist, tucking the ends in.

“Bro,” he overhears as he walks toward the lobby. “Did you hit?”

“In the twenty minutes I was out of your sight? Fuck off,” Marco laughs, low and half-obscured by the bubbling water.

Well.

Niall is slightly flattered that Marco’s friends think that Marco would hook up with Niall, given the chance.

Marco seems like a cool guy. And anyway, it’s not like he’s necessarily interested in Niall. Niall’s pretty sure he’s bottom-of-the-barrel as far as available options for gay – or bi - guys in Malibu. Even if he _was_ into Niall, it wouldn’t matter. Niall likes pussy. He’s into girls.

Niall runs into Harry on the way up to his room – Harry’s in those little yellow shorts again, a pool noodle tucked under one arm. Niall holds out for about two seconds of Harry begging him to come down to the pool, and ends up sitting in a beach chair while Harry floats. Niall’s slathered in so much sunscreen that his body is probably 75% zinc oxide. Harry’s turned a nice golden color, slightly pink around the cheeks. Niall resents that.

Marco’s posse has finally clambered its way out of the hot tub. Not that Niall’s been watching. Marco trails a little bit behind the rest of them as they slosh their way toward the poolhouse, and he detours at the last minute to amble over to Niall.

“Hey, man,” Niall says, grinning. Marco shakes his curls out of his eyes, reaching up with a giant palm to wipe water off his face.

“Hey again,” says Marco.

Harry’s watching them, inscrutable.

“So,” Marco’s saying. “They’re all completely wasted and will probably pass out within a couple hours. I’m – I mean, I’ll be kinda bored – you doing anything tonight?”

Niall glances over at Harry, who’s carefully inspecting the end of his pool noodle.

“Nah,” Niall says quietly. “Just chillin, watchin’ TV. Come over if you want? I’m in 508.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” says Marco, relaxing a little. He scrubs a big hand over his stomach, scratching at his abs a little. Niall grins tentatively and tries very hard not stare at Marco’s hand. How the fuck do you even get abs like that –

“See you later then,” Marco says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks, which only pulls them down farther, and shit, Niall is definitely staring.

“Okay,” he says, snapping his eyes back up guiltily, which is stupid because he wasn’t even looking.

Marco grins wide with lots of teeth, and follows his friends into the locker room.

“New friend?” Harry asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Niall jumps a little. “Yes,” he says. “I mean. Yeah.”

“Hmmm,” Harry says, smiling serenely and turning back to lounge against his noodle. “I have extra condoms if you need them.”

“Jesus christ,” Niall mutters. “I will not need your condoms. I’m gonna – shower,” he says, bouncing his knee and scooping up his cell phone. “Later, Haz.”

Niall re-evaluates on the elevator ride back up to his room. Marco is sure as fuck not into him. Why would he be? Niall is nothing if not the scrawniest person at this hotel. So this is definitely just a bro thing – they’ll watch a footy game and have a beer, just chill. Like bros do.

Some little part of Niall’s brain is saying otherwise, but he successfully manages to tune it out.

_That’s really fuckin’ egotistical of you,_ he thinks to himself. _Just ‘cos you’re a guy and he’s into guys –_

He still showers and cleans up anyway. He’s not gonna make a stranger sit on his dirty clothes he’s thrown all over the couch. And if he lights a candle, well, it’s because his shoes smell really fuckin’ bad, okay?

Lou and Liam are out somewhere at some club, seeing and being seen. Harry is most likely either having a tantric orgy somewhere or in the kitchen charming a chef into making him pastries. Anyway, it’s not like they have to go out together every night. Niall’s usually either here in his room or doing his own thing – there are more celebrities in Malibu at any given time than he would have thought. He went out with Justin a couple nights ago.

Niall puts the Arsenal game on and tries to relax into his pillows, combing through his wet hair with his fingers.

He’s just gotten sufficiently distracted by football when there’s a tentative knock on his door. Niall jumps up, wincing when his leg twists enough to stress his knee, and walks over to check the peephole.

“Sup,” Marco says, leaning on his doorjamb. He looks freshly showered too, damp hair curling at his temples and soft-looking jersey shorts hanging off his hips.

“Come in,” Niall says, waving him over and making a concerted effort not to stare at the pull of Marco’s thin shirt across his back. His back will never look like that in a million years and/or steroids.

“Nice digs,” says Marco, walking over to the window where Niall’s guitar leans. “You play?”

“Yeah,” Niall laughs. “Kind of in a band.”

“Oh, you’re in a _band_ ,” Marco says, not unkindly. “Do you, like, have to turn down blowjobs on a daily basis?”

Niall splutters out a laugh. “What – nah, not even-“

Marco grins, flopping down onto his side on Niall’s giant bed, propping himself up with an elbow.

“Oh,” Marco says, squinting at Niall’s face like he’s had some kind of realization – “You’re Niall! From the band!”

“Niall from the band, that’s me,” Niall says, sitting down on the other side of the bed and flicking at the remote with one hand.

“Wow,” Marco says. “You’re pretty famous. Not as famous as me, obviously, but we can’t all be professional rugby players –“

“Shut it,” Niall laughs, relieved that Marco left it at that.

Marco leans back against the pillows, pulling his heels up so his knees are bent against the bed, and his shorts kind of slip down his thighs, which are just as thick and tan as the rest of him, and Niall has to focus very hard on the television.

“How you likin’ Malibu?” Marco asks, turning to look at Niall, his eyes big and brown.

It takes Niall a second to focus and replay the question. “Eh,” he says. “Apathetic. It’s nice. I mean, it better be, it’s fuckin’ expensive – but it’s a vacation place, you know? It’s not a home. You think about the people who work here. Like, where do they live? Not in the resort. There’s a lot we don’t see. Makes it harder to want to stay.”

Niall winces. What a buzzkill. Usually he’s better at small talk than this, but he feels jumpy and nervous, like he’s back in middle school trying to impress a girl and he can’t stop what’s coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Marco says. “My mom worked for a hotel when I was growing up. Tip the room service,” he adds, turning to look at Niall.

Niall smiles back, and even though it’s a huge bed, Marco takes up a lot of space, and he’s hyper-aware of the brush of Marco’s skin against his arm.

Arsenal loses spectacularly, and Marco changes it to some cooking show, lots of yelling and things catching on fire. Niall grabs them beers from the mini-fridge. He can feel his buzz from earlier fading, and while it’s not like this would be awkward if he was completely sober, he likes the edge taken off.

“You close with your bandmates?” Marco asks, just as some poor guy drops an entire pot of pasta on the floor.

“Yeah,” Niall says, picking at a loose thread on the bedcover. “Close as we can be, I guess. What about you, with your teammates?”

Marco shrugs. “Sure. But we’re always traveling, you know? Always going. There’s never enough time to get to know one place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Niall says, and doesn’t offer more. Marco is a solid line of heat next to him, sun-browned and warm and Niall’s fingers itch with a weird urge to touch. He wraps his hands around the sweating can of beer instead.

Marco smiles and flops one of his legs sideways to press against Niall’s thigh, hot and solid against Niall’s pale skin.

Niall holds his breath.

They watch the rest of the cooking show like that, Niall trying to get his breathing into a normal rhythm and Marco stretching his disgusting muscles all over the place.

The credits start rolling and it’s finally gotten dark outside – Marco’s closer than Niall remembered him being, close enough that Niall can smell his shampoo, a dark citrusy scent that’s making Niall’s head spin a little.

Marco’s vaguely lit up by the light of the TV, the only light in the room – he turns his head toward Niall, close enough that Niall can feel his breath puff out.

His cheekbones are fucking ridiculous. Niall’s watching the flick of Marco’s eyes over his face, the slide of his tongue over his own lips to wet them. And then Marco’s coming closer, slowly, like he’s moving through honey, and Niall hitches a breath, licks at his lips and stays right where he is like he’s tied to the bed.

Niall watches Marco close his eyes, and it feels like an eternity until Marco’s lips catch against his, a surreal drag, slow and furiously hot. Niall’s leg is still pinned to the bed under Marco’s thigh, a sharp stretch pulling through his groin as he sucks in a breath. He’s panting embarrassingly, can’t quite catch his breath, at odds with the maddeningly slow way Marco’s swiping against his bottom lip with his tongue as he sucks on it.

Holy fuck, Niall thinks, which is probably his last coherent thought before Marco bites down, slow and sharp, pinning Niall’s lip between his teeth and sending shivers through his body, straight to his dick.

And suddenly Niall’s kissing back, hot and slick, and Marco’s stubble is scraping against his chin, and Marco’s big hands are running up his sides to yank Niall closer, up against his massive chest, and Niall fucking whimpers, shaking a little as he slams his mouth back against Marco’s.

“Shit,” Marco mumbles against his mouth as his hands rub their way down Niall’s back to cup his ass through his shorts. “Wanted you so bad. Since the first second I saw you, wanted you like this.”

That feels incredible, what the fuck. Part of Niall is freaking out quietly, but there’s also a little part that’s smirking, saying _you knew this would happen_ , and he knows it’s true.

Marco’s rubbing at his ass, palming him through his shorts, fingers sneaking down to the crease of his thighs.

“Yeah,” Niall pants mindlessly, arching back into Marco’s big hands. He just needs – it’s too soft, he needs –

Marco digs his fingers in and squeezes, scraping his fingers rough against the two handfuls of Niall’s arse he’s grabbed.

“Jesus, fuck,” Niall gets out, gritting his teeth against how fast his stomach clenches. He wants it so bad, he’s so fucking hard for this.

“I want –“ he starts, and can’t finish, because he doesn’t really know.

Marco groans, flipping them so he’s on top, pressing Niall into the mattress with his hips, and that’s – shit, yeah, that’s amazing –

“Yeah,” Marco grits out, shoving down with his hips again, and Niall could cry with how good it feels, pinned down like this. “Let me make you feel good.”

Niall can feel Marco’s cock rubbing into the crease of his own hip, big and as thick as the rest of him and lined up along his own dick, and it sends a jolt of heat through him again. Marco’s so much bigger than him, his fucking thighs, jesus.

Marco’s tugging at his shorts, and Niall lifts his hips to let him slide them off. Marco keeps one hand on his thigh at all times as he pulls Niall’s clothes off, rubbing circles into his skin, so close to his cock – Niall needs Marco’s hands on him, like, now. His cock is dripping precome all over his stomach, messy and wet, and Marco’s – well, Marco’s taking his own shorts off, and his dick springs up, thick and uncut and Niall’s mouth starts watering, embarrassingly.

Marco leans back down for a kiss, capturing Niall’s mouth in a slick bite as he tugs roughly at Niall’s cock, nudging his legs farther apart with his knees. Niall’s legs are wide open, pinned back by Marco’s hard thighs, and jesus, he’s so fucking hard.

“Gonna suck you,” Marco mumbles against his mouth, punctuating his words with a twist of his wrist that gets Niall dangerously close to coming.

And then Marco’s sliding down onto his cock, lips tight and hot and his tongue is doing something incredible as he sucks hard. Niall can hear himself whining and gasping and he stuffs the back of his wrist into his mouth to keep quiet, winding a hand into Marco’s curls and tugging him up.

“Fuck, fuck, bro, I’m gonna come,” Niall moans, watching as Marco pulls off with a sloppy suck at the head of his dick, a string of spit snapping back to Marco’s lips, his pupils dark and blown wide.

“Not yet,” Marco says, his voice gone rough. “Do you have anything?”

“Anything?” Niall asks, then realizes. “Yes, shit, in the nightstand.” He scrabbles a hand over, grabbing the bottle – some organic shit Harry got in France that Niall borrowed once and ended up stealing since it was so nice.

“Turn over,” Marco says, and Niall turns over, shaking a little. Marco steadies him with two hands on the backs of his legs before he reaches underneath to shove his thighs open wide and yank his hands out from under him so his face is in the mattress, and Niall’s ass-up and on display, just like he likes his girls –

Marco’s still pinning his wrists with one hand as the other flicks the lube open. Niall’s not going to question his dexterity, not when the flat planes of Marco’s abs are rubbing against his ass and he can feel the slap of Marco’s cock against his thighs as Marco rearranges.

“I’m not gonna fuck you tonight,” Marco says. “But I want to, jesus. You’d look so good, stretched out on my dick. Fucking yourself on my cock. Look at you, begging for it.”

Niall just huffs out a breath, thankful that his face is in the sheets and Marco can’t hear how much he’s whining.

“Yeah,” Marco says unevenly, sliding a slick finger against his hole, down toward his balls. Niall’s cock twitches uselessly between his legs, dripping wet against the bed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Marco rubs harder at Niall’s hole, and Niall wants it, but he can’t relax, he can’t force himself to let it go.

Marco’s squeezing at his ass – Niall squirms, and Marco slaps him hard against one cheek, the sound echoing out into the room, and Niall’s stomach clenches hard, and he opens for Marco’s finger, a hot slide. It feels fucking weird, and Niall tightens down on it, and he can’t get enough.

“Fuck,” Marco whispers, almost to himself, and Niall shoves his ass back as he gets used to the finger. It feels strange but not unpleasant; it’s really the idea of it, of Marco behind him, stuffing his thick fingers into Niall, opening him up. He can’t ask for it – but Marco gets it, presses a second up against the first finger, slaps at his ass again, blood rushing up to the skin’s surface. Niall’s so glad his face is buried, because his ass is hot and bruised-feeling, and he wants to be – stuffed full, he wants to get held down, and he wants to get fucked, and he’s so fucking embarrassed.

Marco crooks his fingers, and Niall almost comes all over himself.

“Holy shit,” he moans, mostly into the bed, and Marco rubs hard inside him, slaps his ass again, pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in roughly, and slaps him again, and Niall shoves back on Marco’s fingers to chase that spot, wide open and stuffed full and he arches his back like a fucking slut and comes thick and hot all over the sheets beneath him, rubbing his dick in the mess he’s made and shaking through it.

“Jesus,” Marco says, grinding his fingers in one more time and dragging them out slow. Niall’s ass is red-hot and sensitive as Marco runs his palms over it, reaching for the lube again – and Niall looks back to watch Marco slicking his cock up with both hands, reaching a finger out to rub along the rim of Niall’s hole as he jacks himself, and Niall gives him a little show – clenching around the tip of his finger, shoving his ass back at Marco. Marco’s grip goes tight and he slides the head of his cock against Niall’s hole, and Niall can’t help it, he groans and pushes back, and Marco comes all over his ass, hot lines of come striping his slapped-red ass and his loose hole.

Niall rolls over, collapsing on his back and reaching up to cover his eyes. He can feel Marco’s come dripping a little bit between his legs.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Marco tells him, leaning down to kiss his mouth.

Niall laughs incredulously, rubbing his forearm over his eyes harder. “Jesus, dude, that was – “

Marco’s already pulling his shorts on, easing the waistband over his dick, but he comes back to sit on the edge of the bed by Niall, rubbing a big hand up Niall’s thigh.

Niall shivers a little under Marco’s warm fingers. “How long you gonna be here,” he says, trying to make it sound casual.

“Two more nights,” Marco says, grinning wolf-like and dipping his fingers under Niall’s leg to rub at his hole one more time.

He’s still so hot and slick and that’s definitely Marco’s come that Marco is dragging his fingers through, pressing against his hole, and Niall groans and opens his legs wide.

Marco laughs. “You fuckin’ love it, don’t you,” he says, pressing harder. Niall just shivers again and tries to stay quiet.

And then Marco’s standing up, wiping his fingers on the sheets, and pulling his shirt on. “I’m in 457,” he says. “I’m free tomorrow night if you get bored.” He winks at Niall.

Niall nods, clearing his throat. “Sure, man,” he says, a little shakily.

Marco shuts the door behind him. The sheets still kind of smell like him – like citrus and sex, and Niall buries his face in them, reaches a hand around behind him, and fucks himself awkwardly on his fingers until he’s coming all over the sheets a second time, almost painful, and then he cleans up and takes the sheets off and showers.

Niall carefully does not think about it, but he puts ‘457’ in a note in his phone.


End file.
